8 Steps to a Successful Proposal
by TheRisingSon
Summary: With a little help from Gibby, Freddie gives us eight easy-to-follow steps to propose to our significant others. Even if they're as...difficult as Sam. Fluff.


**Dan Schneider and I have some things in common. iCarly isn't one of them.**

**What's up? **

**I'm new here. I finally worked up the courage to post something and this is my first fic. I hope you enjoy it.**

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><p><strong>STEP 1: The Realization<strong>

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><p>"You're gonna PROPOSE?" Gibby shouted, causing several customers to look at the two students curiously, "Are you insane?"<p>

Freddie glanced around furtively and whispered over his cup of decaf, "Shut up, Gib. She could hear us! I want this to stay between us. I only told you because you're my only friend that doesn't have cramps once a month."

Gibby rolled his eyes though he did lower his voice in consideration of Freddie. "Yeah, as if your girlfriend or even Carly, Wendy, or Tasha would be caught dead in a cybercafe. And all these losers," he gestured to the people who were once again tapping away at their laptops, "don't associate with our hot female friends so they're harmless."

Freddie snorted at the idea of Gibby calling others losers. He cared for his friend dearly, but, as Sam reminded them frequently, they were both losers. Of course, they both had girlfriends but he was unsure if that spoke about them or Sam and Tasha's taste in men; hopefully, the first one.

"Whatever," Gibby continued, "you're proposing? Are you sure?"

Freddie nodded. "Um, yeah, Sam and I have been dating for like three years. Why not?"

"Well," Gibby said uncomfortably, eyes shifty, "I always thought-don't take this the wrong way-that Sam sorta treated you like crap. I mean, she calls you names, punches you, and steals your stuff, not to mention the way she talks about your mom. Speaking from personal experience, how can you stand that stuff?"

Freddie raised an eyebrow, "It took you three years to point all that out?"

Gibby shrugged and took a quick bite of his bagel. "I figured you were going through an S&M phase or something."

Freddie sputtered; reddening in embarrassment as Gibby idly wiped his mouth with a napkin. Trust Gibby to be straightforward with sexual perversities. He briefly wondered if Tasha had been exposed to this type of boldness then he cringed at the poor choice of words.

"No, Gibby, I don't get off on pain. The opposite in fact."

"Then why are you still with her?"

Freddie sighed. He didn't really expect anyone else to understand. Over the years, plenty of people had asked him the same thing. He'd ignored them all because, frankly, it was a personal question and he didn't feel like telling. But Gibby knew him and knew him well. They had been close friends since the 5th grade and now they were juniors in college. Out of the few, Gibby deserved an answer.

Freddie drained the dregs of his lukewarm coffee.

"Look, Gib, we've known each other a long time right? And I know that I can trust you right?"

"Affirmative."

"The thing is," he paused, his fingers fiddling around with a plastic stirrer, "Sam and I, we have an understanding."

Gibby's mouth dropped open. "Oh god, you guys aren't using one another for sex, are you? You know, you whip my back, I whip yours."

The coffee stirrer snapped in half.

"What the hell!" Freddie adamantly shook his head. "NO! Nothing like that. I meant that we need each others' support."

Gibby was about to interrupt, but Freddie held up a halting hand. "And before you say Sam doesn't need anyone, she does. She told me herself."

"She told...this doesn't sound like the Sam I know."

"You're not dating her," Freddie pointed out.

"Touché, Freddie," Gibby nodded thoughtfully, "Continue."

"Anyways, you know that Sam and I kissed way back when. That's when I realized. The only interesting thing about my life is her. Like when I'm just sitting in a bean bag chair working on a boring something or other, she comes in and calls me Freddork or Freddoofus and I come up with an admittedly lame comeback. And we descend into trading insults," Freddie looked down at his napkin and blushed, "But the thing is, when the dust settles, I look at the clock and all this time has passed without me realizing. I don't know, I guess there's just something in that that makes me feel...alive. She has this crazy, magical ability to make me forget and just let go."

"How does this make Sam dependent on you?"

"I'm segwaying into that. So Sam and I were making-" he coughed and dodged Gibby's gaze, "sitting on Spencer's couch one day. And I asked her if she wanted to stay for dinner because we were having lasagna. Suddenly, she jumps up, smacks her forehead, and shouts, 'Crap! I promised to make dinner today! Thanks, dork, I don't know what I'd do without you. I'd probably lose my head.' Then she sticks her tongue into my mouth and runs out. By the end, I couldn't even think straight."

Gibby gave his customary blank stare until Freddie opted to explain further.

"Don't you get it? The same way she helps me forget, I help her remember the most important things. So she calls me names and punches me from time to time. So what? She doesn't really mean it. So she steals my stuff. She gives it back sooner or later. So she says my mom's a wacko. My mom's a wacko. What we have? It transcends all that. You can't find it anywhere else."

If Freddie wasn't a nice guy, he'd have pointed out how Gibby's eyes were watery and how a goofy smile was scrawled across his face.

"I'm proposing to Sam,"said Freddie in a final way. He accompanied this statement by balling up his napkin and tossing it on Gibby's plate.

"You need some help?"

Freddie grinned.

"Sure. If you have the time."

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><p><strong>STEP 2: The Plan<strong>

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><p>Freddie collapsed face down on Gibby's couch, heaving deep gulps of air into his lungs. He quickly found inhaling dust from a cushion wasn't the pleasantest of experiences. He flipped himself over to see Gibby peering down.<p>

"Did you get it?"

Freddie groaned.

"Yeah, Gib, I got it."

"It" was reservations to The Steaks are Raised, a grill of the highest accolades, renowned for its amazingly tender and orgasmically delicious cuts of meat. Reservations were difficult to come by. They had to be made in person at the front office which opened only on Sunday mornings between 10:00 and 10:45. Freddie had to literally wrestle his way through a crowd of patrons to snag him and Sam a table for a Saturday night, three weeks from now.

"When?"

"8:00. Saturday the 3rd. I'm never proposing again. I think a guy broke my toe when he landed on my foot after some other dude threw him."

Gibby handed Freddie a glass of water which he took and gratefully drank. He missed Gibby's amused smile when he looked around for a coaster.

"Freddie, just put it on the damn table. This isn't the White House."

He shot his friend a look, but set the glass down despite his mother's warnings about water rings. Then came his turn to question.

"Did you get it?"

Gibby's job had arguably been the most dangerous so when he raised his fist triumphantly, Freddie was impressed.

"Shoosh yeah. 6 and a half. Suck it, Benson."

He held out a piece of yellow lined paper with the number 6 ½ written on it. Gibby's task had been to find out Sam's ring size because if Freddie had even tried, Sam would've gotten suspicious.

"How'd you do it?"

Freddie smirked when Gibby attempted to look nonchalant.

"Oh, just some Gibby wits and ingenuity. She was hanging out with Carly like always. I asked Spencer for some Fun-Clay and started to play with it on the kitchen table. Of course, Sam can't resist making a mess so she demanded some. We had fun for a little while, you know, making snakes, volcanoes, lewd body parts, then I asked her if she thought it would hurt if someone was slapped with a hand encased in Fun-Clay. She _had_," Gibby rolled his eyes, "to try it out. She covered her left, because I dared her to, hand completely and backhanded my stomach; it still sorta hurts by the way. Carly decided enough was enough and made Sam go wash her hands. I pulled the clay glove off her hand and offered to clean up. I booked it as soon as they left the room. From then on, it was a cakewalk. Went to the nearest plastics store, bought some ballistics gel, filled the mold, waited for it to harden, and had a jeweler size the ring finger of the gel replica, and there you have it. 6 and a half."

Gibby reclined to bask in the glory. Freddie slowly shook his head.

"You're a genius, Gib, a friggin' genius."

"You know it."

Freddie was relieved with how well things were going. All he needed to do was get the movie tickets, choose the ring, record the voiceover, and reprogram the remote. Easy.

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><p><strong>STEP 3: The Ring<strong>

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><p>"No, that one. Wait, that one. Shit, I didn't see that one before."<p>

"Sir, you've seen that one seven times already."

"I have? Hmm. It looks different though."

Freddie had been going through all the rings for at least three hours. Gold, white gold, platinum, silver. Sapphires, emeralds, diamonds, rubies. Round, square, oval, heart shaped. Every single possibility, yet none of them Sam enough. He briefly thought about giving her brass knuckles with a diamond on each knuckle, but dumped that idea when he figured she would probably knock out his teeth after she said no.

"Do you have any more?"

The saleswoman grimaced. "No, sir, those are all the ones we have."

"Hmm. Maybe I'm looking at this the wrong way," he looked up from the display case, "which ring do you like?"

The saleswoman gasped. "Sir, you must surely know that you should never give a woman an engagement ring that another woman picked out."

"Really?"

"Yes. Every woman is different and that means different styles, tastes, and preferences. The ring has to be for that one woman and that woman only. It has to be unique."

Freddie snapped his fingers in amazement. How did he not think of this before?

"Spencer."

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><p><strong>STEP 4: The Nerve<strong>

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><p>Freddie and Gibby fidgeted nervously in the hallway. Well, Freddie was nervous. Gibby had to pee.<p>

"Okay. You know what to do right?"

"Yep."

"When we leave, go upstairs, set up the equipment. Make sure all the cables are connected to the right colors."

"Freddie."

"Test the remote and the speakers and the monitor."

"Freddie."

"Have the camera ready to go. Make sure it has a strong signal."

Gibby grabbed his collar.

"Freddie, calm down. I know what to do. Knock on the friggin' door."

Freddie nodded and did as he was told.

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><p><strong>STEP 5: The Date<strong>

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><p>"No way, Benson. There is no way in hell you got reservations to The Steaks are Raised," Sam pointed a threatening finger, "Don't you lie to Mama."<p>

Freddie laughed, remembering the exact same line she said when they got an e-mail about Jackson Colt. He had never been to an MMA fight before she had come up with that crazy scheme.

"True blue, Sam. But it's for 8:00 and that means we have a couple of hours to waste," he took out two movie tickets, "so how about we go see Pirates vs. Ninjas in 3D?"

Sam shoved him lightly, her usual smirk gracing her features. "Are you trying to get in my pants? 'Cuz you should remember we already broke that barrier a long time ago."

"I definitely remember, Sam," he replied and, feeling confident, winked lasciviously.

Sam snickered. "Don't try to act all cool. You're not," she pulled his arm forward in earnest, "Now let's go see some blood and gore."

In full honesty, Freddie felt like they were on their first date all over again. While Sam was carefree, he was quietly anxious, his emotions stewing inside. The nervousness came back along with a list of worst case scenarios. He had been a paranoid kid. During the movie, he tried to dodge her hand in the popcorn bucket to avoid an awkward moment even though earlier she had reminded him they had progressed _much_ further than that. Hell, he even pulled the "yawn, arm over shoulder move" but Sam glared and told him to "hurry the chiz up."

The dinner was a more relaxed atmosphere due to the comforting fact that nothing could go wrong when Sam was chowing down on steak. Between bites, Freddie brought up past iCarly memories and they had a laugh over Fuffley and Peeta, random dancing, and his personal favorite, Wake Up Spencer.

"Remember that one time where we covered him with jelly and convinced him he was a PB & J?"

Sam nearly snorted out mashed potatoes. "Oh my god, yeah, and he got all freaked out that a 4th grader was going to eat him so he ran for it and slipped onto his face!"

They sobered for a second then burst out into more raucous laughter. Sam wiped a tear from her eye while Freddie attempted to curb himself by eating green beans. It didn't work and only caused him to spit a wad of mushy green stuff onto his plate. Sam laughed harder.

"Man, where has time gone."

This was it, Freddie thought.

"Hey, Sam, I have an idea."

"Shoot, Fredley."

"Let's do an iCarly. For old time's sake."

He was worried when Sam gave him a long look.

"Sure, let's do it."

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><p><strong>STEP 6: The Set-Up<strong>

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><p>They found Carly and Gibby on the couch watching TV. Freddie sent him a questioning look. Gibby returned with a surreptitious nod. Sam was brimming with excitement.<p>

"Hey, guys, we just had the awesomest idea! Tell 'em," she said, nudging Freddie in the ribs with her sharp elbow.

He explained knowing that both Gibby and Carly were aware of the plan.

"We're gonna do a surprise iCarly for people who still check our site."

Carly, ever the aspiring actress, showed perfect surprise.

"Wow, that's such a great idea! It'll be like a little reunion. We can have random dancing, George the Bra, maybe even Doctor Lobster."

At the mention of his legendary role, Gibby jumped to his feet. "What the hell are you guys standing around for, let's do it!"

Outlining flowed easily as Freddie had already come up with ideas. He experienced a wave of nostalgia as he counted.

"5, 4, 3, 2..."

"I'm Sam!"

"I'm Carly!"

"AND THIS IS ICARLY!"

"Back from the grave for your viewing pleasure!"

They did an "Idiot Farm Girl" followed by a "Doctor Lobster" and a "Fuffley and Peeta" . Sadly, "Messing with Lewbert" wasn't an option after Lewbert was arrested for indecent exposure. He really should've gotten that wart removed.

"RANDOM DANCING!"

The loud, deep voice of random dancing guy jerked Freddie out of his reverie and into the moment. This was it. This was the culmination of all the preparation and all the nerves he had worked up. He couldn't help but stare at Sam through the lens, seeing her jumping around and boundless source of energy and blonde hair, and think that it was all worth it.

Carly gave him his cue.

"And that's all we have for this special, special iCarly webcast. Have a great night and a less horrifying tomorrow!"

"Wait," he shouted from behind the camera, "just one last thing."

Sam gave him an annoyed glance. "What, Freddork."

"Press the fourth button."

She looked puzzled and he prayed she would listen just this once.

"Okay, it seems like Freddie has something else he wants to do..."

She pressed it. The lights dimmed and a faint buzzing filled the air. Sam turned around to see the monitor swinging out. Out of the darkness, Freddie's face appeared on screen.

"Hey, Sam. I know you don't really like sappyness, especially from me, so I'll keep it short. I love you. I really do. You make my day, Sam, you bring light and fun and excitement to my life that no one else can. And when you're around, I...I feel like my life's worth living.I guess what I'm trying to say is—"

Freddie tapped her on the shoulder ad she spun around, shocked. He knelt on one knee and held up a titanium ring with a rainbow crystal at its center.

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><p><strong>STEP 7: The Question<strong>

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><p>"Will you marry me?"<p>

They gazed at each other until Gibby started giggling.

Sam smiled.

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><p><strong>STEP 8: The Answer<strong>

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><p>"Yeah, Benson. I'll marry you."<p>

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><p>.<p>

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**Please review. I'd appreciate it if your review pointed out things that could be fixed like plot, structure, dialogue, grammar, things like that. Thanks!**


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